Being in the moment on a bike in Central Park
My favorite spin instructor always lectures us to “be present.” He warns us to leave behind everything we’ve brought with us to class, including our busy schedules for the day or the fight we may have had with our boss or partner yesterday. If we want to maximize our exercise experience, he tells the class, we must concentrate on what is happening now in the moment.
Being in the moment, present, or now is not a novel concept. For years, what we currently call “mindfulness” experts have warned us that focusing on the past can cause depression. They claim rehashing what happened before, which is unlikely to happen again, is counterproductive. Equally destructive is obsessing about the future as it promotes anxiety. The sweet spot for happiness turns out to be the present. This is where we have maximum control, are most at ease, and therefore, have the greatest potential for being happy.
According to Dr. Martin Seligman, Professor of Positive Psychology at the University of Pennsylvania, 40% of our happiness level is predetermined by genetics. The remaining 60% are up to us to control. If that’s the case, I’m in and delighted to explore this further.
In my very unscientific research, I learn the method for enhancing your chances for happiness is simple. When you find yourself drifting toward the past or the future, bring yourself back to the present. Find something you can focus on in the “now” and then, fully savor it. Just as my spin instructor suggested although he didn’t use the word “savor.”
But what do the experts mean by to savor? In fact, it’s the same process as when you slowly taste something with pleasure. You focus on the details and the sensations. Why are you enjoying it so much? Are you discovering new ingredients, a new preparation, or a new cuisine? Focus on the people with you at the meal. How are they adding to the pleasure of the experience?
In life we are exposed to all sorts of sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and textures. However, we are often moving so quickly that we are not purposefully “savoring” or acknowledging them. The challenge is to experience life through a lens of clarity and awareness. People today call this “mindfulness.” The other part of this equation—and the part I find the most challenging—is to do so without judging it as there is no right or wrong. In other words, pay attention and do so with a positive mindset.
Last Sunday, I thought I’d give this “being in the now” a try. Why not? A 7:00 AM cycling outing through Central Park, from top to bottom, was already on my agenda for the day. So, instead of my normal routine—to get in as many safe miles as possible before exhaustion hits—I vowed to be present in the moment. I would actively attempt to concentrate on things as they happened around me.
Though, to be honest, there was a moment of hesitation. Would I be able to stop obsessing about unleashed dogs dashing onto my path? The future. Could I rid myself of the memory of my cycling pal Joan DeCollibus, who was taken out by a dog in the park, literally and figuratively, and ended up spending two months in the hospital? The past. Could I allow all my senses, normally numbed by the blur of green foliage as I whizzed by on my bike, to mindfully experience the park’s ever-changing environment of diverse people, places, and sensations?
What follows is the result of this informal experiment: A quick recap of two hours “being in the moment” on a royal blue Cannondale bike cycling through Central Park. My first encounter was:
A chestnut brown carriage horse with his muzzle stuffed in a bright purple feed bag. I wonder what kind of feed his owner gives him each morning for breakfast. How long does it take before the horse becomes exhausted hauling tourists through the park? I contemplate the cost. Is it still $120 for a 30-minute ride in one of these iconic horse-drawn carriages? Is the carriage driver’s running commentary still free? Then I spy:
A handsome, bare-chested, thirty-something man running towards me. As he passes me, going in the wrong direction, he winks. I’m flattered and give him a quick up and down look of appreciation. However, is he really running shoeless? Ouch! Then, one by one, I start noticing:
A parade of heavy-set people on electric bikes. I ponder why they don’t just exercise the traditional way—using their own power—to help shed some of their excess weight. Oops. I’m criticizing. Not supposed to do that in this exercise, I remind myself. Then, next up I spot:
Central Park’s carousel barn opening up its security grilles. I love carousels, particularly the one in the park. Built in 1908, this carousel has 57 hand-crafted horses on which I have ridden many times. What a joy to see that it has re-opened for business post pandemic. I hop off my bike for a closer look at the brightly painted horses and to check out the price of a ticket. Luckily, it’s still $3.50 a pop for young and old riders alike. A visitor from Alabama asks me with a slow Southern drawl when the carousel opens. We end up chatting about Jane’s Carousel in Dumbo. This is the one, I explain to her, visible from the Brooklyn Bridge, housed in a stunning pavilion designed by French architect Jean Nouvel. Then, I get back on my bike and resume my ride immediately encountering:
Three chattering French tourists on pale turquoise rented bikes. I hate to say it, but tourists are easy to spot as their seats are always too low and they often cycle in the lane reserved for runners, a dangerous “no-no.” As I barely avoid colliding with them, I realize that I’ve fallen into the trap of negatively judging the tourists. I pull myself back, readjust my mind, and forge ahead making my way towards the Boathouse. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I spy:
A bronze statue of a crouching cougar. I recall the first time I saw this life-size animal during an early morning marathon training run years ago. I didn’t know it existed. As I ran by “Still Hunt,” as it is called, it nearly scared me to death. This morning, however, I laugh to myself. Now, instead of fear, euphoria passes over me. Why? Because the cougar sits on the edge of a large rock outcrop near the top of a challenging hill. Once passed the crest I notice:
Several hot dog vendors setting up their stands. Up goes their red and yellow Sabrette umbrellas. Their carts are piled high with pretzels, water bottles and hot dog buns. While it’s far too early to consider buying one, I still allow myself to ponder the lure of a garlicky New York City hot dog. Yes, they are dangerously unhealthy. But they are also unbelievably delicious. Just thinking of one makes me salivate. Yet better to pedal on to the next siting:
My late husband’s plane tree. There it is, fully leafed out in its green summer glory. Then, I recall the process of selecting this tree to endow in Ed’s honor last spring with the help of two young arborists. It’s conveniently located across from Tavern on the Green. Now each time I complete a loop in the park, I get to see it. It sits majestically on the crest of a small hill, a spot popular with picnickers. As I fly by, I blow a kiss towards Ed’s tree and start my slow descent when I observe:
Three baseball games in progress. At the bottom of the hill past Ed’s tree there’s a cluster of baseball fields. Believe it or not, Central Park has 21 of them! As I descend the hill, I notice there were already three games going strong with lots of family and friends on the sidelines cheering on their favorite team. Continuing on along the Central Park South portion of the loop when I suddenly hear:
A middle-aged, female “busker” playing soothing classical music on a violin. I recognize her. Her name is Susan Keser and she frequently plays in the same spot along the Mall, directly under the statue of Christopher Columbus. I recently read that she gets there early in order to claim her territory. It seems the competition for this prime location from other street musicians is fierce. On this occasion—as is my normal Sunday routine—-I get off my bike for a short culture break. Sitting on one of Central Parks’ 7,000 adopt-a-benches (it only costs $10,000 to do so!) I listen to Susan entertain the early crowd. Susan is a standout as a street musician. She performs with grace, style, and skill. She maintains her statuesque stance for hours playing with the same seriousness as if she were giving a Carnegie Hall performance. I drop a generous tip into her collection box and receive a subtle nod of thanks with a tiny hint of a smile. Just as I’m ready to get back on my bike, I spot:
A group of German tourists on a walking tour. I overhear a short, bouncy blonde tour guide—clearly an out-of-work actor—recount the early history of the Central Park. According to her, when it first opened in 1858, children were not allowed inside the new green space! Eventually, the city fathers saw the wisdom of permitting the little ones in to romp around alongside with their strolling parents. Back on the road, I decided to do one more loop, but this time add the hilly northern end. As I descend the steep grade of its first hill I’m surprised to see:
A huge construction site. The roadway dangerously narrows. There’s orange traffic cones and wire fencing everywhere. What’s going on, I wonder? I find myself next to an enormous hole in the ground where the Lasker ice skating rink/swimming pool used to be. I later read that this construction site is part of a three-year, $150 million renovation project. I continue trudging up the steep, mile-long Harlem hill, a challenge for even the best cyclists. I slowly make it up the hill then, catch my breath along the relatively flat west side of the park. I’ve completing my second and final loop and find myself near the children’s zoo right back where I started. Just as my journey through the park is coming to an end, I hear wafting through the air the sounds of:
The Delacourt Musical Clock chiming “Frère Jacques” followed by nine pongs. This signifies that my cycling adventure has taken two hours. While I can’t see the musical clock, I know it well. Normally, I time my visits in the park so that I can hear one of the 32 nursery rhyme tunes in the clock’s repertoire which play on the hour and half hour. In my mind’s eye, I visualize a menagerie of bronze musicians whirling around on top of the clock: a goat playing the pipes, a kangaroo playing horns, a penguin on drums, a bear with a tambourine, and my favorite, a chubby hippo playing the violin.
As I exist the park on my bike, I pass a line-up of five horse-drawn carriages with their owners all wearing top hats no doubt anticipating their first clients of the day. One mile later cycling through the quiet morning streets of midtown, I finally roll up to the entrance of my apartment. Normally, when I’ve completed my exercise, I feel slightly tense and exhausted. But this time I feel relaxed, energized and content. I won’t kid you, however. Being in the present takes a concerted effort. Consciously keeping a positive, adaptable frame of mind and not reverting to my cynical self didn’t come naturally either. But in the end, I did feel happier. Guess that was the point of the exercise? No?